FFVIII Kiss And Remember
by LoveyouHateyou
Summary: A Seifer Irvine one, set after the end of the game. Rated: M for male male attraction and refs to sex. Seifer remembers, without sap. Irvine has never stopped searching...


**Kiss And Remember**

Rated M for male/male affection and references to sex.

xxx

He sits across the smoky bar, the heavy rhythm of the blues throbbing through him because he cannot help feeling it, getting drunk on it as much as on the other stuff he swallows, wet and dry, to soar. I saw him the moment he slipped in through the door, and I just knew the bouncers would give him an eye or two. They always do – Irvine is too pretty for his own good, almost like a girl with his long copper hair and sweet smile. What do they know of his damn gun and his skills in zapping off folk at a distance, people he has not necessarily met before or cares to meet after he has made a mess of their brains.

Not even the way he moves makes it obvious that he is a guy, a trained soldier no less. Were he to dress up in drag, I doubt they would suss it, and now they double-take, raking greedy glances over him.

I prefer to stay in my dark little corner, close to the restrooms, in spite of the pong that wafts across now and then, when someone needs to go there or returns to the dance floor. The music is pounding, they have strobe lights cutting into the smoke-layered, muggy night, but from my vantage point I can watch without being seen, and that is fine by me. After falling from grace for having made my decision, I am not Mr Popular at the Gardens, but I refuse to cover up my blazing blond hair or wear contacts to conceal my too-light eyes. Prefer to carry myself with pride where appropriate, for I have nothing else left, and where it's not wise to stick it out, I just do what I'm doing now: be unobtrusive and watchful.

He is half-naked in his black net top that is cropped above the navel, no, just below his nipples; his hair sweeps rich and free over his back down to the firmly rounded flesh of his backside, and his black leather pants ride so low on his hips that they lay bare the faint line of reddish down, shimmering from his belly button downwards, to disappear beneath the sloppy chain belt he wears. Those pants are also as tight as a second skin, like painted onto his long, smoothly muscled legs. He looks tarty and tasty, and he does things to me... the years have not dampened what I feel for him. Nothing has.

He sways and wheedles his way through the press of bodies, swimming with their rhythm like a fish in the water; this is Irvy's element: sex and drink and all-out debauchery, yet he still manages to make it a nice thing. Perhaps because he has this sweet, sensual side to him and he is not afraid of letting it show when he is not in battle mode. Irvy loves to fuck or get laid himself; as far as I remember – damn, and those memories are rather vivid – he couldn't care less which way round as long as there's a warm body to wriggle against. He doesn't even mind whether it is a guy or a girl he's banging, as long as it's good. Translated into Kinneas that means soulful, giving everything until you are spent and blasted into oblivion.

Though he does prefer blokes. I know that one too, and for certain.

Does it make him a slut? I have no idea. Don't care. Never had a feeling for what they call morals; where those are instilled in other folk, I have a blank space inside me. Wonder what he would do if he found me here.

They say we cannot remember once we are junctioned. I know that this is a load of tosh, at least for those of us who are trained to deal with that sort of thing. They use it as a lame excuse to go ahead and do whatever you like – you can always pretend a bit of your mind's been wiped clean. A clean slate, as hard and innocent as grey ice. How convenient. Squall is like that, and Zell tries to stick it out. Quistis never judged me though, maybe she knows too, and I dare to remember. I want to remember. I cling to every heartbeat of my memories, taking the rough with the smooth.

Because they include him and his first kiss. The kiss I gave him. A lifetime ago at the orphanage, with us in the throes of teenage dreams of love and sex and how the world could be a glorious place if only they let us loose on it... but this is another story, and one I'd rather not think about when I dream myself back to that kiss.

**xxx**

Irvine was nervous, in his smiling, fidgety way, and I felt mortified. He was the only one who would never pick on me, who would not rat me down or freeze me out like the others. He would treat me – the older one – as one would perhaps treat a younger brother. Except for that one time.

He did like Selphie, I knew that much, it was there for everyone to see, and the girl adored him. She is sweet and bouncy, always in a hurry, and Irvy was like a mellower shadow of herself. She wanted the curb, the slowing down, the holding on. And he meant to give it to her, except...

"I couldn't," he gasped against my shoulder, dejected and put out. That was bad; usually he did not do put out.

"What, Irvy?"

"I... oh, I... now, I mean, I could not sleep with her. She felt good, warm 'n all, yanno. I like her. She's a good friend, and I'd trust her blindly, but – man, Seif... it wouldn't come up."

It surprised me, and then it did not. I guess a bit of me had always known, whether from wishful thinking, or because I'd found out I'd get off ogling my male companions but not the girls, I have no idea. I am not into brain prodding. Perhaps it was a bit of both, along with a touch of instinct, but when he moulded against me, quite desperately messed up, his crotch was pressing against my upper thigh, and we both stalled.

To call it a shock would be putting it mildly.

"What's this?" he asked, confusion mingling with knowledge in his oddly coloured eyes as he peered up at me. Not a lot, we are both tall, only that I shot up faster because I am older and eat more. He wanted me to confirm something he was just beginning to realise, and I balked. Thinking it was too fresh for him, too new, he could not possibly know already, let alone make up his mind as to what he was really after. I didn't want any more bruises on my soul, and especially not one from him. Neither did I want him to hurt.

"It's your dick," I told him, shoving him back roughly against the sun soaked wall of the orphanage. Daubed with graffiti, it made a nice backdrop to his slim dark figure and to his shiny copper hair that stood off his head in wild spikes – he had not yet reached the stage of wanting it long. Just as I had not yet shorn off my golden glory to get rid of my past. I did that when I arrived at the Garden and decided I had to be the best to be anyone. All or nothing.

I am nothing now, but when I watch him, it does not pain me any longer, a strange sort of contentment settling into my mind. Perhaps because I have nothing else to lose after losing him, and perhaps because he is there, warm, alive, as close to happy as any of us will ever get...

"My... hey, I know that," he said, in this soft drawl of his – did he know that it rolled right down to my crotch? I had eyed him for some time, one would have to be blind to ignore Irvy's sensuality, but he was my friend, the only one I had, and that was worth more than a fuck for comfort.

He recovered a bit, and I could have sworn the rubbing of his groin against my thigh became a bit deliberate.

"Irvy," I started and realised that I sounded croaky. I had to clear my throat, then I managed to lift my hands and clasp his upper arms, gently, to pry him off me. He did not resist, but sank down with his back against the wall. He was both a bit boneless and a little tense. Expectant. I could read as much in his eyes when I settled by his side and pulled up one leg to unthinkingly match his pose.

"This is so strange," he said quietly, and something inside me was humming that he must have been doing some thinking already for after the initial rush of heat, he did not appear all that surprised.

"What?" I enquired, afraid that my voice would betray me again, but this time I was doing better and it came out rather smooth and slick.

"What you make me feel," he admitted in his gentle, butter-melting tone. He really is like something sweet dissolving on your tongue, to send you into mind blasting bliss. Or into bloody oblivion with a bullet to your head. I tried hard not to think of the connotations, but I did not too well with that one. He was smiling a bit, more with his eyes than with his mouth. "I've been dreaming, yanno, for a while now, and I think Selphie heard me calling out or somethin' 'cos she said she'd give up 'cos she won't fight lost battles. Don't think she's grumpy. Perhaps a bit rattled if anything."

I did not want to know his dreams. He did not insist.

Instead, he held this little smile for me as he splayed his fingers on the grey concrete slabs and drew a long breath. "Yanno, I'd like to ask you somethin'."

"Anything," I murmured and wanted to slap myself. I never liked giving up control.

His smile broadened. "Would you kiss me?"

I have been called opportunistic by those who are too cowardly to grasp an chance when life presents it. So be it, and I do not feel ashamed of seizing that one because he sat there, beside me, his face open and kind, his eyes shining at me, knowing and not knowing.

Yes. I would. I wanted... and so I did, without further fussing or soul-searching, lean over, intending to make it a coy touching of lips so as not to spook him. Irvy's always good for a surprise, you'd not suspect that unless you get to know him a bit better, but then I was boggled for he opened his mouth to me and stuck his tongue between my lips before I had time to think.

He tasted bitter-sharp, of coffee and mint; I remember that with a keen edge of regret. When I left to fight for my Sorceress, I left him behind too, and it hurt like hell. It is the only thing I regret. It's the thing I would give my life for to undo; yet I can't, this is all a pile of nonsense, and I'll leave it at that.

Zell snapped us before we heard the sneaky little punk approach. A flash of light, tearing white and hard into the sunny afternoon, and we were there for posteriority, kissing forever.

Jarred from utter bliss, we gave chase but failed to catch him, and when we did, he would not budge, neither to my fists, nor to Irvine's tickles. He used the piccie to blackmail us into obedience as much as possible: bad mistake. For I lived a few months for his whims, but he's gonna regret it for the rest of his life. I am vindictive.

The next day, Irvy sought me out down by the beach where I was idly flipping stones over the gleaming blue waves. "Zell said he'd keep the disk, just in case," Irvy said, a bit shaken for the sounds of it, and his voice had a husky note that wrapped round my nether parts like a hand, and damn, it felt... well, beyond anything I'd ever done with myself.

Standing close-up in front of me, he pressed a print of the picture into my flat hand and watched me while I looked at it, lifting it up and resting my elbow casually on his shoulder, my other arm winding around his waist just so. I could tell he liked it from the way his body showed it, and he swayed a bit closer still until he leaned into me and I could feel him all over. He set me tingling. He made me burn. He soothed my mind. I wanted to stay like that forever.

I have to admit that Zell had a talent for nice shots, in every sense, and this one made us look good – against the sunny wall leaned Irvy, messy-haired, his eyes closed and his tongue stuck out a little, tasting my kiss. And me, bending over to him, bracing my knee or I would have jumped him there and then, instead of trying to kiss him with all the decorum I ever had. Which I cast to the wind thereafter, but that is another story.

He looked a bit shy, keeping his arms neatly to himself – man, how that would change as soon as he had acquired a taste for sex and life – though he craned his pretty neck, not to miss a single bit of this. And it was I doing it, my hair still long and bright like sunshine. Don't we all change in surprising ways, trying to become the opposite of what we were so many years ago. In a way, we were innocent, and now we are full of guilt and guile though we look neat and groomed and know how to behave in public. Squall has honed his ice-still facade, and Zell keeps running away from himself and wonders why he never gets anywhere, and I don't even want to start thinking about the way we betrayed the girls.

**xxx**

So what of me and Irvy? We slept with one another alright, and he was a natural at it even though I was his first. How did I know what to do? Well, we had cattle nearby, if that is enough of an answer, and the rest was a passionate, considerate fumble. Zelly kept the disc, even though it lost its power after Irvy and I did not give a toss any longer who knew and who was bothered. I wondered though whether Zell jerked off looking at us kissing and thinking it was he doing this to Squall. I had seen enough of the pair to know what was on Zell's mind.

I kept the picture. After all those years, it is cuffed and stained and shows hardly more than faded shadows, but it's seen me through battles and surrender, through fucking sessions and lovemaking, through pain and sorrow and more of the same. It rustles a bit in my shirt pocket as I slip it in and stroke the fabric and the paper within with my flat hand. I will keep it until I die.

Just as I will keep watching him, even if it means moving within hostile territory. I am as free as a bird, and some day I will meet my fate. Not yet though. Old skills come in handy while I am trying to dodge it a little longer, skirting murder and vengeance in a deadly game of stealth instead of burying myself alive in some safe place.

For being away from him would be akin to dying slowly, limb by limb.  
I think he knows. Senses me around.

He's picked someone up by that bar: a young guy, broadshouldered, slender and tall, with shoulderlong blond hair and bright eyes; even from here I can see them gleaming waterclear.

Despite the ache in my chest, just underneath the battered old photograph, I smile into my drink and around my cigarette. For Irvy has chosen me, the way I was back then; his hunger for yet another fuck is the hunger for us.

The ache means I am still alive.  
From his choice I knowthat he is telling me I am still with him.  
And this has to be enough for me.

**xxx**

**The End**


End file.
